


Postcards

by NeonTitanium



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Antisepticeye (In Name Only), Darkiplier (In Name Only), Guns, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners in Crime, Robbery, Supervillains, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonTitanium/pseuds/NeonTitanium
Summary: I DO NOT GIVE "FANFIC POCKET ARCHIVE LIBRARY" PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK! THEY ARE STEALING FANFICTIONS! THEY ARE MONETIZING WORK THEY HAVE NO RIGHT TO PUBLISH! THEY ARE MAKING MONEY OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE'S WORK! DO NOT USE THEIR APP!See notes before fic for more details!"You see, this wasn't the first time they had done this. In fact, Jack couldn't count how many places like this they had performed this song and dance at. There was that restaurant in Toronto, that pub in Birmingham, and they even crashed a birthday party at an animatronic-themed food joint down in Sydney. Jack couldn't count off the top of his head, but if he got into the back of Mark's truck, rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out his scrapbook, then he could count all the pretty postcards, one by one, to see how many times he and Mark had done this. One little card, with a hillside or landmark pasted across it's low-res face, to mark each and every successful job."Superpower AU where Jack and Mark go on a robbery spree road trip around the world because they have superpowers and the government are going to capture and torture them, so why not live a little first?
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Sean McLoughlin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Postcards

**Author's Note:**

> AN APP IS STEALING AO3 FANFICS AND MAKING MONEY OFF OF THEM! Please don't use "Fanfic Pocket Archive Library! This app is unethical and exploitive. Please check out this Tumblr thread for more details:  
> https://winchestersingerautorepair.tumblr.com/post/190849729650/attention
> 
> \---
> 
> Hey, thanks for clicking!
> 
> Mark and Jack go by Darkiplier and Antisepticeye as their supervillain names, but the characters themselves do not exist in this universe, sorry.
> 
> Inspired by Pulp Fiction, Thelma and Louise, and X-Men.
> 
> Mark and Jack are not bad people, they just realised they have little time to live, so they may as well do some crazy shit.
> 
> Mature Rating for descriptions of violence, threats, drug use. (Warnings will update with new chapters. May increase rating to Explicit in future chapters.)
> 
> Thanks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings:  
> Threat of violence, guns, drug use (medical use)
> 
> Fun fact: The overstimulation is based off of my own experiences. I have a both a visual and auditory processing disorders, so sometimes this is how I experience the world. The more you know!
> 
> I plan on Jack having the power of hyperawareness, similar to Spideysense, which actually affects him negatively, so he uses CBD oil to suppress his powers. Mark has teleportation, which will be explored more in future chapters.

"No, it's Pulp Fiction." The words were laced with grease and salt, specs of potato zipping across the table to crash land on the soda-damaged menu, only to be mashed under the weight of a sleeved elbow a second later. The pulverised fries were swallowed. "It's Tarantino."

There was a ringing, something metallic and echoing, like a bell in a metal hamster ball, rolling around somewhere near the kitchen. When the barista working the counter walked away from the automatic coffee machine, Jack clocked onto what it was: somewhere in the machine was a loose screw. He should tell her, let her know before something went sideways and she was blasted with an hail of scalding bean juice, but the thought of standing up and crossing the kaleidoscope of colours merging at every table was too much for Jack. Instead, he sat back and watched Mark fist more fries into his mouth.

"You can't confuse Tarantino and Kubrick." Mark washed his fries down with a deafening slurp. "That's blasphemy!"

Jack slouched and closed with eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not with it right now."

He listened as Mark paused, deciding what to reply to his Irish friend, and in the time between closing his lips and Mark opening his, Jack heard twenty-one separate sentences from across the diner, three mobile phone notification bells, five plates clanking, eleven mice squeaking in the walls, and Mark's feet creasing their relentless tapping on the floorboards. Mark's reply finally broke the ensemble: "You good?"

Jack sniffed and sat up straight. "I'm good."

"You need your meds?" Mark offered, placing his burger down and wiping his greasy fingers on his jeans.

Jack turned to look across the diner again - it looked like Bob Ross had a seizure and knocked his shelf of paint onto the floor - and sharply cracked his neck to the side, the loud snap making Mark cringe. He rolled his shoulders before reaching into his pocket to pull out the small bottle. "I didn't wanna use them today."

Mark shrugged. "If your head isn't screwed on today, then you need to take them."

Jack unscrewed the cap, waving his elbow at Mark. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He squeezed the basin, drawing up the liquid, which sloushed deafeningly, making Jack pause, but he pushed past it, swiftly bringing the basin up to his mouth to squeeze a few drops under his bottom lip. One hand replaced the basin while the other massaged the oil into his gums. "Tarantino is overrated."

Mark scoffed, his eyes widening in offence. "How dare you, Seán McLoughlin. I thought you were a man of culture."

Jack rolled his eyes while he continued to move his bottom lip around, the sloush of his own saliva not nearly loud enough to drown out the sounds of spit flecking around Mark's mouth as he spoke. But slowly, Jack started to notice less and less. It had only been twenty seconds, and already the conversations around him weren't distinguishable from each other, merging back together into an incoherent tone of background rumble. By forty seconds, he had a hard time even hearing what Mark was saying.

"You good?"

Jack nodded, finally releasing his lips. "Better."

"Good enough?" Mark glanced around the room as he spoke.

Jack followed his gaze. Finally, human beings sat at tables; his mind was beginning to run out of metaphors to compare the overstimulation to. He saw only what he needed to see. The chef had gone on a cigarette break, the waitress had just said goodbye to her quarterback boyfriend who had just pulled off out of the parking lot in his truck, and the old man with the gun on his belt had just paid his bill and was ready to leave. Perfect.

Jack turned back to Mark. "Tarantino isn't as good as Taika Waititi."

Mark rolled his eyes, his hand reaching for his backpack on the seat next to him. "Just cause you like comedy."

Jack unfolded his coat slung over his own neighbouring seat. "You gotta have some comedy as well as action."

Mark watched with a hawkeye as the old man crossed the parking lot. "Tarantino does comedy."

Jack let his fingers firmly curl around in his coat pocket. "Tarantino does bathos. Going from serious to overdramatic in a split second. That's not comedy."

Mark gave a wink. "What's wrong with that?"

Jack took a deep breath. Mark had a point. "Nothing, I guess."

They both stood up. Mark rose to stand on the table. Jack let his eyes flash around the room, the haze of the drugs frustrating him, but he clocked the pink dress of the waitress two tables away. He hand flew from his coat to point at her. Behind him, Mark shot the ceiling: "This is a robbery! Any of you motherfuckers dare move a fucking muscle and you'll be painting the tables red."

Mark's shadow from the window behind him danced on the floor in front of Jack, and Jack smirked as he watched it wave it's dark gun around in the air, sweeping across, like some twisted gameshow wheel of misfortune, turning, turning, to see who it would land on. It stopped at a table with a single mother and her two sons. Jack smirked. No one would dare move now.

You see, this wasn't the first time they had done this. In fact, Jack couldn't count how many places like this they had performed this song and dance at. There was that restaurant in Toronto, that pub in Birmingham, and they even crashed a birthday party at an animatronic-themed food joint down in Sydney. Jack couldn't count off the top of his head, but if he got into the back of Mark's truck, rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out his scrapbook, then he could count all the pretty postcards, one by one, to see how many times he and Mark had done this. One little card, with a hillside or landmark pasted across it's low-res face, to mark each and every successful job.

Jack blinked his eyes, focusing on the waitress. She was frozen, her coffee jug in her hand slowly pouring into an overflowing mug on the table. Maybe she would be the next postcard. Some little waitress posing up outside a diner. Yeah, they sounded like this town, something traditional and cheap.

It wouldn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. This place was nothing in comparison to the other jobs; heck, Jack couldn't even remember the name of the town. Purses, cash registers, watches and phones, all of it added up and filled their pockets. Today was just another job, just another way he and Mark got to fund their travels.

The truth was, apart from the one bullet Mark fired into the ceiling, their guns were empty. The guns were a front, completely harmless. That wasn't to say that Jack and Mark didn't have the power to kill. They would, if they had to. They hadn't killed anyone yet, but they both knew, deep down inside, that one day something would go wrong and they would be forced to take action.

The authorities were closing in. Time was running out. Every other superpowered human had already been captured, so why not do whatever the fuck they wanted? Why not go crazy and get rich? See the world, experience everything at least once before the end. Now, it wasn't just about getting away with the crimes. Now, it was about running for their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
